Lina awoke in silence.
Not the comforting kind, but the kind that presses against your chest like stone. She was lying on a stage—wooden, creaking, lit by a single spotlight. Beyond it was pure blackness, like the world had stopped being drawn past the edges of her role.
A single chair sat before her. And on it… Mikael.
But something was wrong.
His eyes were closed. His wrists were tied with crimson ribbon. Pages were stitched across his mouth like bandages. And behind him stood Ariadne, holding a knife made of ink.
"You said you'd write your own story," she said, walking a slow circle around the stage. "But what if someone else already wrote your ending?"
Lina tried to stand, but invisible threads pulled her arms down. She was a puppet now—just another part of Ariadne's twisted show.
"I gave you a chance," Ariadne continued. "But you still think you can win without sacrifice."
She reached toward Mikael, the knife grazing his cheek. A thin black line appeared—like spilled words bleeding through skin.
Lina screamed, "Stop! What do you want from me?!"
Ariadne turned to her, smiling gently.
"I want you to choose."
Suddenly, two books appeared in front of Lina.
One was bound in red leather. The title shimmered: "Her Love That Saved the World." The second was bound in obsidian: "The Girl Who Let Him Die."
"Only one gets written," Ariadne whispered. "The other burns."
Lina's breath caught. "You're lying."
"I'm editing."
Lina looked at Mikael, still unconscious. Then down at her hands. The threads holding her had loosened slightly—but not enough for both books.
She could only reach one.
Her fingers trembled as they hovered between them.
Then she closed her eyes.
And grabbed—